


Dreadpark

by NicuCostam



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, nothing graphic everything suggested
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 08:30:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13360569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NicuCostam/pseuds/NicuCostam
Summary: The future is ahead of us. And the future is the thin line of the skinning knife that Domeric has at his belt - this is the future.





	Dreadpark

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Dreadpark](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4501209) by [NicuCostam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NicuCostam/pseuds/NicuCostam). 



> i wrote this in polish back in 2015, i think, but there is no way of telling how long i kept this on the drive before posting here  
> im weirdly fond of this piece; it's inspired by "Lunapark" by Tomislav Zajec 
> 
> english? what is english?

Domeric wakes me up and says, "We're going to Dreadfort." And then, when we get on horses, he asks me what I will do next. I look ahead, behind us is a mill and a river, we go deep into the forest. And then we're on an old wooden bridge that looks like it's going to be break when we step on it. Animals snort, but we pass. Domeric repeats the question, and this time he pulls my sleeve. The shallow stream reflects the sky. What I left behind, mill and mother. I look at him and say, "We're going to Dreadfort." I mean, I've finally met him. It also means: I'll not come back. What I left behind, the impression that I had something, nothing more than that. I'll be sixteen soon. Domeric is year older. The future is ahead of us. And the future is the thin line of the skinning knife that Domeric has at his belt - this is the future.

* * *

A completely thin line, blood trickles down my cheek. From the cheek, drips on the chin, on the neck, then disappears somewhere under the shirt. It's warm and I still feel pain after being hit. Lady Bolton had to turn the ruby ring right before slap. Although a moment has passed, and this woman has gone to her chambers, her voice still buzzes in my head. "It was my son!" I stand in the hall, in front of the door, because they won't let me in. Maester quickly passes near me, he does not even want to look, but leaves the door ajar, so I slide in. Roose Bolton dash Lord Leech dash Father Who Received me, stands by the bed and looks at me. I am afraid of his eyes, although I know that mine are equally cold. I want to ask a lot of questions and say a lot of words, but I can only mutter "Will I leave now?". Lord father whispers that he will think about it. He looks at his son for the last time, not at me, at my brother, and leaves. I'm left alone in the room, almost alone, there is Domeric. He is lying in a bed, covered with blankets, his eyes are closed, but I know he is not asleep. I see his chest does not rise. There are a knife and a card with my name on the table. I take a knife to my hand, it's beautiful, with a bone handle and very sharp. The future is a thin line of the skinning knife that Domeric left for me - this is the future.

* * *

Mom does not want to let me go, she hugs me so hard that I can't breathe. But I missed her too, so I'm not trying to get away. At last, she loosens her grip and looks at me with a gentle smile. She looks like a ghost, tall, pale, with matted dark hair. She says my name with affection, kisses me and runs back home. She hates outside, hates leaving, I know how much it takes from her to welcome me in the yard. We eat bread and mushrooms, as if nothing has changed, and I have disappeared for only two days, not nearly a year. In the evening she takes me upstairs, throws my belt somewhere in the corner and slowly unties the pants' laces. "You look just like a father in his youth, you know?" And then she adds quietly, I barely hear her, "I have to punish you for leaving me alone." I close my eyes and when I open them again, it's all over, and she's asleep. I stare into the darkness and though I do not see it, I know that somewhere there lies my belt and knife. The one with a thin blade that is my future. And I think I should kill my mother.

* * *

I wake up Heke and say "We're going hunting." My servant rises from the hay, looks at me with blank eyes. Finally, he gets up with a cackle and goes for cold water from the river. Reek, they call him, although he washes himself almost every day and weaves flowers in his hair. People laugh at him, but I know that Heke is my only friend. I look around the shed where he sleeps. It is as old as a mill, built of dark wood. High above the door, I see small letters. I climb onto barrels and chests to touch white, chalk letters. "Every moment in this house crumbles like a thousand pieces of glass, and in them, I see only sad faces." I do not fully understand these words, but I repeat them in a whisper because I like their sound. It seems Domeric left me one more souvenir. As weak and unreal as a knife blade.

* * *

We're hunting. I am on horseback, old mares, Heke is walking by my side. We have a bow, a quiver full of arrows and a knife. We do not have dogs that would scare the prey, but it does not matter. I say, "Today is the seventeenth day of my name, the prey will come to us." Heke chuckles, says nothing more. Today he has a wreath in his hair woven from wildflowers. He looks like a young lady, but doesn't stink, there is a sweetness in air, water hemlock. In silence, we cross the forest, it's warm as never before, and birds sing among trees. And finally, we meet her. She looks at us with her eyes, as big as a deer, smiling sweetly. Throws a thick, red braid from one shoulder to back. I ask her name. "Jeyne."

* * *

Lord Bolton dash Lord Father dash Man Covered In Leeches, for the first time he accepts me in his rooms. I expected furs or tapestries, but the walls and floors are bare, just like a man lying on a bench. "You must have heard that my wife has passed away, she will lay among hills. You can stay in Dreadfort. For now..." He doesn't look at me, even for a moment, gives a sign with his hand that this is the end of the conversation and I have to leave. In the courtyard, a kennel master greets me, I remember him, Ben Bones. Dogs howl like wild, in a kennel, where everything smells of blood. "It's a gift from a lord, he heard that you like to hunt. If you train her well, no prey will escape you." I'm looking at a puppy, a red-haired bitch, and I think I know how to name her.

**Author's Note:**

> Saw some awful writing/grammar mistakes? Hit me, I swear I won't cry  
> also im [thirstforred](https://thirstyforred.tumblr.com/) on dumblr


End file.
